Roses
by nrynmrth
Summary: Three different Valentine's Days featuring different amounts of dead and living people. Oneshot.


A/N: Starts out happy, becomes depressing relatively soon. Sorry. Also: this was supposed to be a Valentine's Day fic, but the city is doing construction near my house and someone accidentally cut the internet line. Whoops. So I've had no internet for the past week...but the Inter Web and I have been reunited once moooooore (cookies if you know where that's from) and I've got a new oneshot! Note: I've messed with dates a little (it's called fanFICTION for a reason) so that I could get the timeline to work. Don't hate me for it.

Disclaimer: I'm not Anthony Horowitz. He has better things to do than cry about internet and watch the NBA All-Star game (maybe not that last one), both of which I've done in great quantities. I've also cried about German and Physics, implying that I'm in school and therefore _not an adult_.

* * *

Jack trudges down the stairs on February 14th, a scowl ingrained in her features. Slouching into the kitchen, she accepts the mug of coffee a disgustingly cheerful Ian presses into her hands. She nods her thanks and plops into a stool at the large marble island. Resting her head on her hands, she asks,

"Why are you so damn _happy_?"

Her query is met with an even brighter smile. "You're not? It's Valentine's Day, Jack! Aren't you excited to go out with a _special someone_?" He waggles his brows at her and she can't help but laugh at how ridiculous he looks.

"No," she groans, raising her head to glare balefully at him. "I don't have a _special someone_ and I hate Valentine's Day!"

Ian draws back slightly, confused by her outburst. "Why?" He demands like a child, brows knitting. "I _love_ Valentine's Day."

"Of course you do," she mutters. "It's so stupid, all the red and pink and chocolates and flowers and _cliché fake love_."

"Fake love? _Fake love?_ " Ian is outraged, gesturing wildly about as he tries to make her see his side (not that she will). "It _celebrates_ love! A day when people in love show their appreciation for their loved ones. _Plus_ ," he plows on, cutting off her sound of protest, "I think it's _cute_."

And now it's Jack's turn to gesticulate about her, coffee forgotten as she tries to make him understand why the holiday is so _goddamn banal_. "It's not cute, you idiot! No one celebrates real love at all! It's just guys trying to worm their way into a girl's heart with kisses and flowers and gifts so that he can cheat on her the next day!"

Ian stares at her, comprehension slowly entering his dark eyes. "It happened to you, didn't it?" It's not a question, but Jack nods anyway,

"Senior year of college. He gave me flowers and chocolates for Valentine's Day and I caught him locking lips with a cheerleader the next morning, He wasn't even _sorry_ , the damn jerk face, and we'd been together for four years. I thought I loved him."

"Jack…your feelings weren't fake." Ian's voice is soft, sympathetic – she's been with the Riders for six months now, and he's never seen her go on a date (he always thought that she was too busy, but now he knows the real reason).

Her laugh is bitter and cynical. "He dumped me like trash and went back to snogging his cheerleader, the blonde bimbo. I'd say our relationship was pretty fake."

Ian is about to reply when a fluffy blond head appears at the doorway of the kitchen. A just-turned-seven-and-proud-of-it Alex rubs sleep from his eyes, yawning.

"Happy Valentine's, Jack, Ian." They both greet him back, even Jack (who can resist those eyes?), their conversation forgotten for the moment as they make small talk with Alex. Ian agrees to take them all out for ice cream, and even though Jack doesn't agree with his reasons (who eats ice cream in February?) she goes along anyway (free ice cream? Hello?).

They finish their cones and spend a good many hours in the park, where Alex and Ian instruct Jack in the finer points of football (You can't throw it, Jack! I thought you said it was football? Not _American_ football, _real_ football!), and Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, this Valentine's day isn't so bad after all.

"It's getting late, maybe we should head home—" Ian is interrupted by a call on his mobile.

"Hello…oh. Where? Thailand? When?…I see. Tomorrow? I'll be there. Goodbye." He hangs up and looks at the other two, who are watching him with resignation. He kneels before Alex, taking the little boy's hands in his own.

"You have to work again." Alex's voice is quiet and a little shaky, and Jack's heart breaks.

"Yeah, I do. I'll be back soon, okay?" Alex nods at his uncle and the man stands, turning to Jack. "Jack—"

"I'll look after him for you," she interrupts. "We'll be fine." The relief is tangible in his gaze and she hopes to God that he'll come back without any mysterious injuries this time (she's always the one to patch him up and she doesn't know how many more scars she can see on his body).

The trio make their way home in silence, punctuated only by the occasional cough or hiccup. The house is colder than it had been in the morning, as though Ian's impending departure has made the walls shiver. Jack and Alex go to bed early that night after a hug for each from Ian and a silent whisper of 'be careful' (Jack can't help but murmur the words in his ear, even knowing that he'll come home with blood all over him and that she'll have to patch him up as best she can before Alex wakes).

Her bed is hard beneath her back and it is a long time before Jack falls asleep, thoughts of her ex and worry for Ian keeping her up.

When she wakes the next morning, the sun is streaming through her window and she knows Ian is long gone. She sits up in bed, turning reluctantly to place her bare feet on cold hardwood floors, but a flash of red catches her eye. Placed on her nightstand is a beautiful bouquet of red roses, elegantly tied with a satin ribbon and stripped of their thorns. A small note is tucked beneath the flowers and Jack, curiosity piqued, lifts it gently. She reads it once and then again, a smile blossoming on her lips.

 _Dear Jack,_

 _I know how much you hate Valentine's Day, but I wanted to show you that it's not all bad. I thought roses would go over better than chocolates or gifts. Forget about that idiot, Jack – he was too foolish to see how great you are. Alex and I see it every day (you know, sometimes I think that boy loves you more than he loves me). You're part of our family, Jack, and we'll never let you forget it._

 _Love, Ian._

 _P.S. Don't tell Alex who sent these – he'll be jealous._

Jack laughs out loud at the last line, picturing Ian facing an angry Alex. The flowers are beautiful, their scent intoxicating, and Jack knows that she's found a second family in this man and his nephew.

* * *

Seven years later, Ian is dead, Alex is fourteen, and Jack is miserable. The day the police appear at their doorstep at absurd o'clock in the morning is quite probably the worst day of her life – it's Valentine's Day. She and Alex spend the day in silence, staring at the blank white walls of their home and contemplating a future so bleak and uncertain that neither wishes to dwell on it (but they can't help it).

Alex is curious at Ian's death, and Jack's heart stops when he mentions that Ian always wore his seatbelt. She is torn between wanting to discover how he died, this man who was an older brother to her, and wishing that Alex would leave well enough alone (she can't bear to think of him investigating the death of the man who raised him which is probably why he doesn't tell her about his visit to the auto junkyard). She nearly begs him to leave his uncle's death as a car accident (maybe he just forgot to wear his seatbelt?) even though she knows it was not, simply because she thinks she'd _die_ if Alex ended up in danger. And then the bank gets ahold of him (why did was he so curious, _why_?) and she almost shatters when he tells her that Ian was a spy (in a sense, she'd always known he wasn't a banker) and that he is going to finish the mission that _killed his uncle_. She can see the resignation in his eyes, so similar to Ian's when the bank called him in, and even though she is not religious, she prays to any higher power that he will come home _safeallrighthealthynotinjured_ just because she can't handle seeing him bleeding the way she saw his uncle.

They settle into a routine, Alex and Jack. The bank calls, Alex leaves, Jack prays, Alex comes back, Jack patches him up and cries herself to sleep at the thought of how she'd broken the promise she made to Ian all those years ago – _"I'll look after him for you"_ – yeah, right. He risks his life on a regular basis and comes back half-dead each time – she's doing one hell of a job.

There are rare moments of normality, in which Alex complains about schoolwork, plays football (not soccer, Jack), and talks to Tom. The bags under their eyes recede and both Jack and Alex are finally able to remember what life was like before Alex became a spy (before Ian _died_ ) – and the bank calls again, and their illusion is shattered.

Alex's fifteenth birthday passes with him absent to celebrate it (he's off in Cambodia or something, Jack doesn't know) and Jack is ashamed to find herself wondering if it's really worth it, staying in England. As soon as the thought crosses her mind, though, she kills it, because she is all the family Alex has left now (Ian, how could you leave him?) and she has to be there for him. Her resolve nearly shatters the day after his birthday when she forces herself out of the house and sees a man with blond hair presenting a bunch of roses ( _red_ roses) to a red-haired woman. She takes one look at the happy pair and dashes inside the house where she bursts into tears, remembering the beautiful roses she found by her bedside that Valentine's Day seven years ago.

Alex returns a week later, bruised, battered, but very much alive, and Jack scolds herself for even thinking of leaving this boy who is no longer a boy. She berates herself even more when the tired spy pulls a rose from behind his back (what is it with Rider men and roses?) and hands it to her with a "Happy belated Valentine's Day, Jack." She hugs him tightly, hot tears leaking from her eyes to land in his matted blond hair (so different from the fluffy hair of seven-year-old-Alex), and places the rose in a vase all by itself beside her bed. Alex sleeps soundly that night, worn out by his mission and the many injuries scattered over his body, but Jack tosses and turns (much like the night Ian left all those years ago), finally sinking into a restless doze.

Alex leaves again after two weeks, mostly healed, and Jack dreams of death and blood that night (she wakes up screaming). The rose is wilted when she wakes, dead and dry, and Jack firmly believes that this is the _worst_ Valentine's Day she's ever had. She loves Alex more than her own life (when Jack loves, she _loves_ ), and he is gone, off being coerced into being a hero (she knows about the blackmail and she hates the bank for it). Jack, upon seeing the rose, slides down the kitchen wall and cries until she has no tears left. This is how Alex finds her, for she has not moved from her position except for bare necessities. Tears have dried on her face and she hasn't showered in weeks, and Alex decides that she can't go on like this. They contemplate solutions until Jack proposes that she go with him on his next mission, something Alex is so against that he nearly tears his hair out.

" _No_ ," he tells her, his voice thrumming with fear. " _Jack, you can't get hurt. I'd die._ " The way he says this last statement is so powerful that Jack almost breaks, but she strengthens her resolve.

" _Alex. It's killing me, watching you come back half-dead. I can't watch anymore. It's too much like—_ " Here she stops, unwilling to mention the name they've been skirting around for months, and she sees his acceptance in his liquid brown gaze.

" _All right_ ," he concedes. " _I'll clear it with the bank_."

He does, in fact, clear it with the bank, and two months later they're jetting off to Cairo (Jack thinks that this is the happiest she's been in a _long_ time). The mission is going well, and she can see hope in Alex's eyes –

And then the world turns to hell. They're captured, both of them, and Alex's hope is crushed beneath despair. It is rekindled slightly when she tells him " _I can escape, Alex, we'll get out of here_." Her eyes reflect his emotions, fear and anger tempered by a flicker of hope – hope that everything will go back to the way it was ( _Ian won't be dead_ ). She chips away at the cell, the hope growing inside her as she knocks out a guard (she's secretly a ninja, didn't you know?) and hotwires a Jeep. The hope is _burning_ inside her as she drives the automobile away from the compound – just as her body does, seconds later, as she is consumed in a column of blood red ( _rose red_ ) fire.

* * *

Another seven years pass. Ian is dead, Jack is dead, and Alex is twenty-one. Jack would have teased him, had she been alive, about his newfound ability to drink (well, drink _legally_ , anyhow). But she's not alive, and Ian's not alive, and Alex is all alone on this Valentine's Day. It seems only fitting (to him, at least) to visit the most important people in his life (Jack would have been honored to be counted as important – Ian would have scoffed and said he knew it all along, but the pride in his eyes would be genuine).

The cemetery matches Alex's mood. It is deserted (who would visit graves on a day celebrating love?) and cold, snow and slush lining paths and covering graves. The graves he will visit are far from the public eye (it pays to work for an intelligence agency), beside each other. Ironically, there is a space in between them where a third person could be buried – on morbid days, Alex likes to think it will be his grave when he dies (Jack would be shocked to hear his thoughts).

The snow on each grave is untouched (he is the only one who visits them, ever), and Alex sobs a little at the realization that these two people will be remembered by him – _only_ him. He clutches the flowers in his hands so tightly that the thorns slice his palms, leaving punctures that will add to the collection of scars on his body (Jack would tend the injuries, but she's dead). Bright drops of blood land on the two graves, defiling the pure snow, and Alex jerks his hands back, tears pricking his eyes (he doesn't know why the blood bothers him so much – Ian's had his share of injuries and Jack burned in blood red flame).

The stems of the roses in his hands are now bloody, hiding the cheery green beneath cruel red (Alex hates red). He sets a rose on Ian's grave, tracing the letters of the headstone with bloody fingers.

 _Ian Rider_. The name is so familiar, and yet it cannot begin to sum up all that he was – father, brother, caretaker, best friend, and so much more. Alex is cold with grief as he remembers Ian Rider.

The other gravestone is less worn (Alex likes to think that nature is caring for Jack the way he would if she were alive and not _dead_ ). There are several roses still clutched in red fingers and Alex lays them down gently, carefully. There is no note accompanying this second bunch of flowers (yet another difference between nephew and uncle that Jack would have catalogued had she been alive) and the petals are stained with blood, coloring the snow beneath them. Alex simply gazes at this headstone, committing the familiar words to memory once more.

 _Jack Starbright_ (he couldn't let them put her full name on her grave, he couldn't). The dates glare at him, reminding Alex that the years are _far_ too close together – she should never have died so young, and the thought of the years she had left to live fills him with anger. Alex is burning with anger as he remembers Jack Starbright.

Eventually, the sky darkens, and Alex must leave his family. He rises, stretching stiff muscles, pushing the grief to the back of his mind. He allows himself one last long look at the mossy stones before he trudges off into the night –

 _Happy Valentine's, Jack, Ian_.

His voice echoes in his mind, childlike as it was fourteen years ago, except this time there is no one to greet him back.

* * *

Seven years go by (again). Ian is dead, Jack is dead, and Alex is dead. Three untouched graves lie side by side (the roses have long since died), far from any semblance of human life (something all three craved, after a while). The sky is not dark with clouds or dreary – the sun shines brightly down on the cemetery, reminding the world that the inhabitants of those three graves are together at last. Surprisingly enough, all three make it into heaven, even the spies (if any of them were alive, they'd think that God was too afraid of a certain red-haired woman to even _think_ about separating her family). It is, without a doubt, the best Valentine's Day any of them have had in a long, long, time.

* * *

It was supposed to be happy...it kinda devolved into an angst-fest. Let me know what you think of my amazingly depressing story!

hugs,

-nrynmrth


End file.
